


I Know Your Story (But Tell Me Again)

by universallongings



Series: Give You My Sunshine (Give You My Best) [1]
Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mentions of being drugged and assaulted, mentions of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universallongings/pseuds/universallongings
Summary: “Thank you,” she breathed into the quiet that had nestled itself between them. She reveled in the rough weight of his hand against hers. It felt like it belonged there—like it was somehow meant to hold hers. The thought should have scared her, but she was done being scared today.ORLucy meets a young woman whose story hits a little too close to home, reminding her that healing is a process. Luckily, she has someone by her side to make it easier.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Series: Give You My Sunshine (Give You My Best) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874110
Comments: 45
Kudos: 204





	I Know Your Story (But Tell Me Again)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this little tribute to Lucy Chen. This fic features a discussion between two women about being drugged and assaulted, as well as a scene depicting a panic attack. As an additional note, I tried to avoid too much actual police work in this fic since I’m sure my descriptions of procedures are woefully inaccurate, but I tried to do my research and apologize in advance if there are any missteps. 
> 
> This story idea has been brewing in my head for months, and I’m excited to finally share it with all of you! The title for it comes from “Is That Alright?” by Lady Gaga (because apparently titling my fics after Lady Gaga lyrics is a thing I do now…).

Two more days...She just had to make it through two more days, and then a whole new chapter of her life would start.

The infamous “30-day push” had been as difficult as advertised, made even more challenging by the investigation into Nolan’s alleged crimes (which she didn’t believe for a second) and the arrest of Detective Armstrong. 

It would have been easy to get distracted or let the stress consume her, but Lucy was lucky to have a T.O. who knew when to push her, when to help her focus, and when to remind her that all of this work would be worth it in the end. 

(“I know you can handle it,” she remembered him saying to her in the dark of the shop. She held on to those words like a talisman when the days felt too long and her body felt too tired and everything around her felt like too much. She could handle it; she always believed she could. But knowing that Tim believed it too was something else. Something _more_.) 

The days passed in a blur of calls and bad black coffee, paperwork and late-night Pad Thai until she was suddenly staring down the barrel of only two days left as a rookie. 

Only two days left as _Tim’s_ rookie.

As they waited for Sergeant Grey and Jackson started telling Nolan the story she’d already heard that morning about Sterling’s possible part in a big-budget action movie, she glanced behind her, and when Tim’s smiling eyes found hers, she was met with a rush of grief for something she hadn’t even lost yet. 

Her complete lack of a poker face came back to bite her once again as Tim’s eyes narrowed, immediately sensing that something was up. She turned back around with the weight of his gaze warm and heavy between her shoulder blades. She wondered if he would always look at her like that—like he _cared_ , like she _mattered_ —or if he wouldn’t look at her at all once he didn’t have to share a shop with her. 

(She hated how much the second option terrified her.) 

Lucy didn’t have much time to process the new pressure behind her sternum and why it seemed directly tied to realizing that in two days Tim wouldn’t have to care about her anymore, that in two days she’d be just another name on the long list of rookies he’d trained. Sergeant Grey was handing out assignments, and a new kind of anxiety overtook her when he asked her and Tim to stay behind for theirs. 

“Officer Bradford, Officer Chen…” His eyes lingered on Lucy long enough for her to feel the prickling of panic at the back of her neck. “We got a call from Shaw Memorial a few minutes ago—a young woman showing signs of being drugged and assaulted was brought in by a friend, but she wants to talk to an officer before she makes a formal report.” 

_Drugged and assaulted…_ The prickling intensified, spreading down her arms until she couldn’t feel her fingers. 

Either Sergeant Grey could sense her discomfort or he was just being a characteristically good commander when he added, “If you’re not ready for this, Officer Chen, just say the word, and I’ll send another team—no shame in it. But it might be better to face a case like this while you still have your Training Officer to help you.” He looked over at Tim, who had been staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched tightly. Tim gave their boss a solemn nod before turning to look at her with eyes that seemed to repeat what he told her almost 30 days before.

_“I know you can handle it.”_

“I can do this, sir,” Lucy replied. She took a deep, steadying breath before she added, “I want to do this.”

Sergeant Grey responded with a small, proud smile, but Lucy could feel the sadness behind it too. 

\------------

Lucy knew she was being suspiciously silent as they made their way to the shop and started the ride to the hospital, but her mind was racing. She knew she could face this; she knew she had to face this. She’d studied PTSD in college and had gone through extensive treatment and even more therapy sessions than the LAPD mandated. She had all the tools to cope with her trauma in a healthy way. She was prepared for this. She was ready.

_Then why were her hands shaking so badly?_

“You don’t have to do this.” 

Tim’s voice had none of its usual bark; there was a sincerity to it, a softness, that made her finally release the breath it felt like she’d been holding since Grey had first pulled them aside. 

“Yes I do,” she replied with a confidence that surprised her, turning slightly to face him more fully as they stopped at a red light. She was suddenly gripped with an overwhelming need to have him understand. “If I can help someone else…” She searched for the right words under the warmth of his gaze. “It can’t all be for nothing, you know?” 

He didn’t reply, but his eyes held all the understanding she craved as he nodded gently before turning his attention back to the road and letting out his own long, shaky exhale. 

They settled into companionable silence, the safety of the shop enveloping her as it often did. At some point in the last year, it had become more of a home to her than her own apartment—and she knew it had nothing to do with the amount of time she spent in it and everything to do with the man sitting by her side. 

She wondered if she made it feel like home for him too.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by the sharp inhale that usually preceded Tim attempting small talk to take her mind off of something. She wondered what reality TV show he was going to ask her to recap while feigning interest.

“How’s Emmett?”

She wasn’t expecting that. 

“Asking me questions about my personal life? Are you feeling okay?” She was deflecting, and she knew he’d see right through it. But she really didn’t want to talk about this right now. 

“Very cute,” he snapped back, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. 

The silence between them was no longer comfortable, and she knew the only way to fix it was to tell him the truth. 

“We’re not seeing each other anymore.” For some reason, this felt different from telling Jackson and Nolan—it felt heavier, more important. 

For someone who said he hated talking about feelings, Tim didn’t miss a beat. “Do I need to foul him a little harder the next time I see him on the court?” 

Lucy laughed lightly. “No...He was sweet...and _hot_...” She added that part just to watch Tim roll his eyes in response, and he didn’t let her down. “And it was fun. But I think I’m ready for more than fun, and I don’t think he was the person to give that to me.” 

As she finished talking, it dawned on her that the person she was talking about wasn’t just some imaginary perfect guy or future prospect.

It was Tim. 

She wanted it to be Tim.

And the way he was looking at her then—like she was deserving of all the things she was starting to want for herself—wasn’t helping her remember why that was such a bad idea. 

She needed a reminder of one of the many reasons why he was off-limits, so she went with the most obvious one. “What about you? How’s Rachel?” Lucy had been so busy with the 30-day push and Nolan’s investigation that she’d only called her once, right after she moved to New York. 

They were sitting at another red light, but Tim didn’t meet her eyes this time. He shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, and she knew. She could feel it radiating off of him as if he’d told her himself. 

“I’m so sorry, Tim,” she whispered. The air suddenly felt heavier than it had seconds before. 

“It’s fine,” he responded. “We tried for a few weeks, but I think we both knew how it was going to end.” He sighed, his gaze fixed on hers with an openness that was so rare that she was afraid to breathe in case that made it disappear. “Someday I’ll get it right.” 

He cleared his throat in what Lucy knew was a half-hearted attempt to brush away the vulnerability he’d just displayed, but before she could say anything else, they were pulling into a spot in the small lot at Shaw Memorial set aside for emergency vehicles. Once again, he’d succeeded in distracting her; she’d almost forgotten what they were about to do. 

“I’ll let you take the lead,” he explained, suddenly all-business again. “The last thing this woman needs is a man coming in and asking her uncomfortable questions.” For a beat, he dropped the tough T.O. facade and angled his body a little closer to hers, his face softening. “You ready?”

She nodded, steeling herself. “I’m ready.” 

_It can’t all be for nothing…_

\------------------

Grace had met them at the entrance and briefed them on the basics: Madeline Nelson. 21 years old. Student. Didn’t come home last night after a party at an off-campus house, so her roommate went back in the morning and found her disoriented and severely dehydrated in the backyard, certain that someone had put something in her drink the night before. 

“Rohypnol,” Lucy whispered, remembering all too well what it felt like waking up tied to that chair, her head foggy and dizzy and her body desperate for water. Her mouth went dry at the memory, and she found it almost impossible to swallow. 

“Most likely,” Grace continued. “Right now they’re stitching up her hands—it seems like they were cut by broken glass on the ground. But then she said she’d like to consult with an officer before undergoing a forensic exam.” 

As Grace left them outside Madeline’s door, a young woman—her strawberry blonde bun disheveled and a trail of mascara caked right under her eyes—approached them. Before Lucy or Tim could introduce themselves, she started talking to them, her voice breaking almost immediately. 

“It’s my fault,” she said, barely able to meet their eyes. “Maddie hates parties, but I dragged her there anyway so I could talk to this guy I liked.” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold in the hurt, the guilt. “And then I left her to go spend the night with him. She would never have gone to that party if I hadn’t pushed her.”

Lucy could sense the change in Tim immediately—the tension radiating off of him in violent waves. For the first time, she realized she wasn’t the only one who was going to have to face their demons today. 

She knew she needed to offer some comfort to the struggling girl in front of her—and she hoped that it would be comfort for the struggling man standing next to her too. “It’s not your fault, Miss—”

“O’Donnell. Kayla O’Donnell,” the young woman said with a sniffle.

“Miss O’Donnell...You had no idea what was going to happen that night. The only person at fault is the person who hurt your friend.” She glanced over at Tim, whose hands were folded across his chest in a way that seemed far too similar to Kayla’s body language. “And you did the right thing now. You found her. You got her someplace safe. I’m sure she appreciates that more than you’ll ever know.” 

The look Tim gave her as she finished somehow managed to both break her heart and make it feel whole again in the same breath. 

After a pause that was probably too long and too loaded with emotions this poor young woman was never going to understand, Tim spoke gently but confidently. “What your friend needs right now is someone to be there for her, to help her feel like herself again. And you bringing her here tells me you can be that person for her.” After Kayla nodded in response, he concluded, “And whatever guilt you feel—try to let go of it, even if it seems impossible. She can’t carry around your guilt too.” 

Lucy barely caught Kayla’s sweet, “Yes, sir.” She was too busy fighting off the sudden, overwhelming urge to soothe the lines of worry on his face with her own shaking fingertips. 

Just then, the door opened, and Kayla popped in quickly before them to tell her friend she was going to grab a cup of bad vending machine coffee—and to let her know she had visitors. As Lucy and Tim walked into the room, Lucy was frozen in place by the sight of a young woman _(far too young)_ propped up in bed with her dark hair tangled around her, a bruise quickly forming on her face, and bandages around her hands. But it wasn’t those details that made it feel like staring into a funhouse mirror; it was the expression on her face—the exhausted look of someone trying too hard to pretend she was going to be okay when she wasn’t really sure she ever would be again.

Lucy found herself rubbing her wrists—soothing a phantom pain brought on by too many memories. 

“Miss Nelson, I’m Officer Lucy Chen, and this is Officer Tim Bradford.” She tried to keep her voice steady but soft. 

“Please, call me Maddie,” the young woman replied.

“Maddie,” Lucy continued, smiling slightly at her, trying to establish a rapport. “We understand you wanted to talk to us about what happened last night.”

Maddie took a deep breath that looked painful, and Lucy was filled with rage toward the person who hurt this girl and toward a world that kept letting this happen—that kept letting women be put in hospital beds by men who wanted to cause pain to feel powerful. 

“Before I make a formal statement, I just want to know what my odds are,” she said with a level of cynicism Lucy wasn’t expecting. 

“Your odds?” Lucy asked gently. 

“I’m not an idiot; I’m pre-law,” Maddie explained. “So I know that once I give a statement and once the doctors collect any evidence—” Lucy noticed her slight shudder—“my story doesn’t really belong to me anymore. There might be reports on the news and a trial and everyone on campus will know.” Her voice broke a little, shattering the facade of stoicism she was trying so hard to project. “And I just don’t want to face that kind of judgment if he’s just going to get a slap on the wrist—or nothing at all.” Her shoulders sagged, and Lucy wanted to hug her. But she had a job to do, so she slowly walked closer to the hospital bed while Tim stayed stoically by the door.

“I can’t tell you the odds of him going to jail, and I can’t promise you that you’ll get the justice you deserve. We both know the world isn’t always kind to women who’ve faced what you’ve faced.” She stepped closer still, so she was situated right next to her bedside and could clearly see the glint of anger in her eyes—the same anger Lucy felt in her gut. “But I can already see that you’re a fighter, and I think you should fight like hell.” 

The anger in Maddie’s eyes was suddenly replaced by a sadness so deep Lucy almost felt as if she was drowning in it. “Everyone is going to blame me,” she sighed, seeming defeated. 

“You don’t know that,” Lucy countered with a quiet ferocity that sounded a lot like Tim. 

“I do,” Maddie whispered through tears. “Because _I_ blame me.” 

“Maddie—” Lucy started, but she was immediately cut off. 

“No!” The intensity of emotion in her voice was palpable. “I knew better! I was talking to a guy from my poli sci class because he was cute and I was bored, and then he offered to get me another beer.” Her strained exhale sounded too much like a sob, and Lucy’s heart clenched. 

“I knew better. You get your own drinks. You never take your eyes off your cup at a party...The next thing I knew he was saying he would walk me home because I was acting completely trashed, even though I knew I’d only had two beers.” Lucy’s heart rate sped up at the memory of wondering how she could have gotten so wasted from two glasses of wine. “And then we were behind the house and he pushed me to the ground and started kissing me. I don’t remember much else, but I tried to push him off me...I fought…” Tears began to fall rapidly down her face, and she swiped at them with trembling fingers. 

Lucy could feel the walls closing in around her, the weight of her own pain pressing down. But she didn’t have time for it now; this young woman needed her help. 

_It can’t all be for nothing…_

“I know it’s not easy, but you can’t blame yourself,” Lucy said slowly, trying to put as much authority into those words as she could muster while her heart pounded wildly in her throat. 

Maddie scoffed. “No offense, Officer Chen, but until you’re laying where I am, I don’t think you can really know.”

Lucy watched Tim stiffen in response to those words, and she felt her own body tense from head to toe. But she took a deep breath, settled her frayed nerves, and sat down in the chair next to Maddie’s bed. This was going to be hard, but it was worth it—helping this young woman feel less alone was worth it.

“A few months ago, I was on a date with a guy...I’d met him a couple of times before, stalked him on social media, the usual. He seemed nice and normal enough. And the date was good—so good that I decided to stay for a second glass of wine. I figured what harm could it do? It had been a long day, he was cute, I was kind of lonely...It was fine.” She genuinely enjoyed Caleb’s company at first; that was the scariest part. She was still trying to figure out how to trust her own judgment when it had failed her so badly. 

“When they brought our second round, I knew it was probably getting late, so I turned to grab my phone from my purse to check the time. Well, of course your phone always ends up at the bottom of your purse, so I had to dig for a while....That must have been when he took my glass…” Her throat felt tight but she wasn’t going to cry. She needed Maddie to know her story didn’t have to be a tragedy.

She needed to remind herself of that too. 

“Everything else still comes in pieces—flashes. Stumbling out of the bar...seeing the trunk of the car open...waking up the next morning in a strange house with no memory of how I got there and just hoping I put up a fight.”

She took slow, steady breaths, trying to fight off the hyperventilating that often started whenever she talked—or even thought—about what happened to her. 

Maddie’s voice was so quiet Lucy only heard it because she was so close. “Did he—”

Lucy shook her head vigorously. “No. He hurt me in other ways, but not like that.” She thought about the other flashes that still came to her—the sound of the tattoo gun...the burn of the pepper spray in her eyes...the slow descent into unconsciousness as the oxygen in the barrel disappeared…

She paused, her voice catching before she added, “I knew better too. I’m a cop, and it still happened to me. But what happened to me isn’t my fault. And what happened to you isn’t yours.” 

Maddie just nodded, clearly too moved to say anything. So Lucy gave her a moment to collect herself, turning to where Tim was still standing near the door, his face betraying a depth of affection that made her feel strong, despite what she’d just shared. She gave him a shaky smile, and the small quirk of his lips upwards in response felt like a gift she would treasure for a long time. 

“I’m scared,” Maddie breathed into the silence of the hospital room. “I don’t want people to look at me and only see what happened to me.” 

Lucy’s heart resonated with painful understanding. “I know. But I also know you’re more than that. You’re a survivor.” She stole a quick glance back at Tim and felt her entire body relax at the proud look on his face. “And other people should know that too. I’m not going to tell you what to do. It’s your story, your body, and your choice. But I think you deserve justice, and I want us to have the chance to get it for you.” 

The small flicker of hope and happiness across Maddie’s tired face made Lucy feel lighter than she had all day. “I think I deserve justice too,” she answered with more conviction in her voice than Lucy had heard yet. She paused, though, suddenly unsure. “Does that mean they have to take a DNA sample?”

Lucy was quick to reassure her. “I can walk you through exactly what they’ll do before they do it.” 

“That sounds good, Officer Chen.”

Lucy smiled down at her, struck for the first time by how small she looked—but also by how strong. “Call me Lucy.”

\------------

Tim stayed outside while Lucy talked Maddie through the steps involved in the forensic exam and the making of a formal report whenever she felt comfortable doing so. As Lucy got ready to leave, Maddie asked, “How did you get through it?”

Lucy sighed. “I don’t think I’m through it yet...I’m not sure I’ll ever be.” That truth felt a little too hard to leave on, so she added, “But I take it day by day. I can promise you that it does get a little easier with time.”

She found herself looking at Tim through the door, smiling softly as she concluded, “And hold on to the people in your life who look at you like you’re a survivor—not a victim.”

Maddie grinned up at her. “Like how Officer Bradford looks at you?”

Lucy felt herself blush. “He’s a good Training Officer…”

“...who couldn’t take his eyes off you any time you talked,” Maddie teased. 

Lucy was thankful they were behind closed doors, but she was also thankful that talking about Tim seemed to brighten Maddie in a way that had seemed impossible when they first walked into her room. 

Kayla walked in then with two cups of coffee, which Lucy knew was her cue to leave. 

She handed Maddie her card. “If you ever need anything—even just to talk—here’s my number.”

Maddie closed her fingers around Lucy’s hand briefly. “Thanks, Lucy.”

Lucy squeezed back, the emotions threatening to overwhelm her again. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

\----------------------------

As soon as she left Maddie’s room and entered the fluorescent-lit hallway, Lucy could feel the tightness in her chest, her breathing getting shallower with each step. She’d studied panic attacks thoroughly enough—and had enough of her own now—that she knew the signs. But she still hoped she could at least make it into the shop before she lost it entirely. 

_The shop._

The idea of sitting in that small, enclosed space suddenly had her reeling. Reliving the details of what happened to her had heightened her awareness of anything that made her feel trapped—the walls of the hospital, the scratchy heat of her uniform, the tightness of her bun. She didn’t feel free anywhere, and she found herself spiraling as she thought about how hard it was going to be to sit in the confines of the shop and pretend everything was fine for the rest of the day. She could feel the sweat on the back of her neck as she fought the urge to run for the doors, to breathe fresh air. 

She was so tightly enveloped by her own anxiety that she barely registered Tim talking to her—saying something about “excellent work”—until he lightly touched her arm. 

“I just gave you a compliment and you didn’t even acknowledge it,” he said with what was trying to be a teasing tone but quickly turned concerned when he saw the pained look on her face. “Either I’m getting too free with my praise or something’s going on.” 

She couldn’t meet his eyes; it felt safer to look ahead and just keep moving. “I just need to get outside,” she said, her voice breaking slightly as she continued walking, not even bothering to check if he was following her. 

She thought she’d feel better once she got outside, but the sun felt too bright, giving her spots in her vision ( _or maybe that was the anxiety?_ ) and making her feel even more claustrophobically hot in her clothes. Her heart was pounding to the point of pain in her chest. And even though logically she knew she was in the beginning stages of a panic attack, she still was overcome by the fear that she was actually dying. 

She knew that fear well. She’d felt that fear settle in her bones. That fear was the only thing that fit in that barrel with her. 

She hated that fear. She hated herself for feeling it and for not being able to stop it from coming back.

With every step closer to the shop, she felt herself grow more lightheaded. She had a job to do, a T.O. to keep up with—she couldn’t quit for the day because she was afraid to sit in a car. But she also couldn’t bring herself to open the door. She could only stand there, frozen in place, her hands once again rubbing hard—too hard—against her wrists, turning the phantom pain into actual discomfort.

The sight of the dark colors of the shop’s interior through the window only made her feel more uncomfortable, and her vision tunnelled like it did when she was in seventh grade before she fainted in the middle of the spelling bee. 

She knew it was against dress code and Tim would make her do push-ups for it later, but she fumbled to undo all the buttons on her uniform shirt, revealing the white t-shirt she wore underneath. 

She needed air.

She couldn’t get enough air.

“It’s okay, Lucy.”

That’s all it took for every instinct she had been pushing down since Grey gave them this assignment to come to the surface in a rush of adrenaline and a sob that felt torn from deep in her chest. 

She was breathing too quickly; her heart was beating too fast. 

It was all too much for her.

But it wasn’t too much for him.

“We’re gonna sit right here,” he said as he helped her onto the ground next to the shop, the blacktop hot underneath her and his hand steady on her back. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, his fingers moving gently between her shoulder blades, creating a soothing pattern that she tried to focus on as waves of anxiety kept knocking against her. With every shallow breath, she was thrown back into that barrel, fighting for every last molecule of oxygen. 

She nodded before she put her head between her knees, trying to pull herself together. She reached across her body to tightly grip his other hand in hers. 

“I’m here,” he reassured her softly. 

“It’s so hard to breathe,” she choked out. “It feels like it did when I—” Another gasp stole her words. 

_When I was dying._

“You’re okay. You’re not back there, Boot.” His voice was somehow commanding and comforting at the same time. “Focus...Tell me what’s happening to you.”

He always knew the key to helping her ground herself. 

“I’m having a panic attack,” she said into her hands as they came up to cover her face. She kept going, her voice mumbled against her palms and her breath still coming in gasps. “It’s just...She knew the guy who hurt her. She thought she was safe...I thought I was safe. But you’re never safe.” She tried to burrow deeper into her hands, which were now wet from her tears. “I’m never safe.”

“You’re safe now,” his voice was barely a whisper, the same gentle cadence that had draped over her like a security blanket as he held her on that dusty ground. It was enough to get her to drop her hands from her face, reaching for his again. “I’ve got you.” His fingers softly stroked her knuckles. 

As she continued to take quick, shallow breaths, he continued, “Let’s try a couple of deep ones, okay? In for five, out for five.” 

She nodded and even found herself smiling a little, thinking of how different this was from his orders on the first day she met him. 

Under his guidance, her breathing slowed, and she felt herself come back more fully into her own body—enough to realize that she was sitting with Tim on the ground in front of the shop and that he’d just witnessed her have the most debilitating panic attack she’d suffered since the first week after Caleb. Embarrassment started to crowd out the anxiety from her brain and her gut.

Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe she couldn’t handle it. 

Maybe it had all been for nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down at their hands, unable to meet the kindness in his eyes. 

“For what?” He seemed genuinely confused, and Lucy laughed, although there was no joy in it.

“For not being able to keep my shit together,” she said sadly. “I feel like such a failure.” The tears started coming again, streaking down cheeks that were burning with shame. 

“Look at me, Boot,” he commanded with more force than he’d shown all day. She complied and found herself staring into eyes that seemed to see all the way through her—and somehow still liked what they saw. “You think you’re the first cop to break down after a tough call? You’re not that special.” He nudged her shoulder with his before growing serious again.

“About a week before you started, Lopez and I were riding together, and we got a call about a body in an alley. It was a heroin overdose. And she had blonde hair.”

Lucy thought of Isabel and held his hand a little tighter. 

“Lopez barely drove two blocks away from the scene before I asked her to pull over so I could throw up on the sidewalk.” Now it was his turn to avoid her eyes.

He cleared his throat and kept going, his eyes slowly returning to her face with renewed conviction. “This job is hard. But what matters is that you do your best to help people. And the way you helped that girl? It was perfect.” 

His thumb wiped away a stray tear that was sneaking down her face. She felt the electric current from his touch long after he pulled it away. 

“Did you really just say I did something perfectly?” she teased softly. “I must really look pathetic.”

His smirk made her heartbeat speed up again just after she’d managed to get it under control. But this time, she didn’t feel like she was dying. She felt more alive than she’d felt in a long time. 

“You never look pathetic,” he replied warmly, and she couldn’t miss the way his eyes affectionately trailed over every inch of her face. “And I mean it. It’s who you are, Officer Chen. You make people feel like it’s okay to share their stories with you.” The way he said “people” made her feel like maybe he wasn’t just talking about Maddie. “You give people a safe space to talk things through, and people really need that.”

He paused before echoing back her words to him from what felt like a lifetime ago: “It’s probably why you excel at being a cop.” 

When she smiled, it didn’t feel forced. It felt good. She felt good. 

He made her feel good. 

“Then let’s get back to work,” she said with newfound confidence as she got to her feet—tired and stiff but ready to face the world again. 

She realized they were still holding hands as they stood at her door to the shop. She also realized neither of them seemed to want to let go. 

“Thank you,” she breathed into the quiet that had nestled itself between them. She reveled in the rough weight of his hand against hers. It felt like it belonged there—like it was somehow meant to hold hers. The thought should have scared her, but she was done being scared today. 

“Anytime.” He slowly, reluctantly, let go of her hand to walk around to his side of the shop.

As she got inside, she took a second to collect herself—buttoning her top button again and redoing her bun while he got settled in next to her. 

Things felt heavy between them now—in both good and bad ways—and she wanted to lighten the mood if she was going to get through the rest of the day. “Are you glad you only have one more day of me and my feelings to deal with?” 

His easy laughter seemed to surprise even him. “No breakdowns tomorrow, okay? I used up all my pep talks on this one.” He winked at her, and she wondered when they had reached the point where Tim Bradford winked at her in the shop. 

If her tone was more flirtatious than it should have been, she blamed the wink. “Just for that, I hope Grey pairs you with a new rookie who’s even more talkative than me.” 

As Tim started to pull away from the hospital he shot back: “There are two reasons why that won’t be happening. One: It’s not physically possible to be more talkative than you.” He kept going despite her very loud scoff. “And two: No more rookies for me. Angela and I both decided to move on. She’s got the detective thing; I’m trying to be a sergeant. It’s time.” 

He was trying to sound nonchalant, but Lucy knew how important this was. “Did I ruin all rookies for you?” She was trying to keep her tone light, but she felt like something big was happening. 

“You’re a tough act to follow, Boot.” 

\-----------------------------------

The rest of the day was filled with a succession of relatively easy calls that kept them busy (and kept her mind off of what was slowly—or maybe not so slowly—changing between them) until it was time to clock out. 

As Lucy changed into her skinny jeans, loose pink tank top, and ballet flats, she found herself thinking about Tim’s thumb on her cheekbone and wondering if he couldn’t stop thinking about it either. Was it just something friends did when they comforted each other? Maybe—but Lucy didn’t think friends stared at each other’s lips in the process. 

She emerged from the locker room with her hair loose around her shoulders and her mind occupied with thoughts of the weight of his hand in hers and how empty her hands seemed now without his. 

As if on cue, Tim came around the corner in jeans and a hunter green Henley shirt, looking even more distracting than her previous thoughts of him. 

“Long day, huh?” he sighed as he came to stand next to her. 

“I’m sorry again.” She knew he was going to tell her there was nothing to apologize for; she could see it all over his stern face. But there was something she needed to say—as much to herself as to him. “I know I’m still healing. I know I’ll never be who I was before—and most of the time I’m okay with that. But sometimes I just wish I wasn’t this broken.” She could feel the tears threatening to spill over again as she spoke the words she’d been keeping to herself for too long. 

Tim stepped even closer into her space, and Lucy was struck by how good he smelled, which was _not_ what she should have been focusing on. “I know you don’t always listen to me,” he teased. “But I want you to listen to this. Every person is broken in some way. But what do you always tell me? What do they deserve?” 

“Kindness,” she whispered, suddenly knowing where this was going.

“So don’t you think you deserve the same kindness from yourself?” When she didn’t respond (because she knew she’d just start crying again, and neither of them needed any more tears from her today), he added, “Not a hypothetical question, Boot.”

She let out a laugh that caught on a sob. “Yes, sir.”

The soft smile on his face was one she was starting to grow shockingly familiar with. “Good...Now how about we get out of here and get some tacos? It’s been a hell of a day, and there’s a truck near the beach that makes margaritas too.”

Lucy felt her cheeks lift as she smirked at him, sensing the brightness in her own eyes mirroring the playfulness in his. “You had me at margaritas.” 

She texted Jackson to tell him to leave without her as she and Tim walked toward his truck, and the telltale three dots appeared immediately, followed by:

_TIM is taking you out for dinner?! Is there something I should know??????_

Lucy smiled down at her phone as she typed. 

_It’s been a DAY. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. <3_

She knew that wasn’t 100-percent truthful, though. The way Tim’s hand felt in hers, the warmth of his thumb on her cheek, the look on his face when he told her she was a tough act to follow—those were things she wasn’t ready to share with anyone else, and she thought maybe she never would. 

She liked knowing they were hers and hers alone. 

\----------------------------------

It was easy. 

Talking with Tim. Laughing with Tim. _Being_ with Tim.

It was easy.

Even the silence was easy. 

As they ate, their conversation shifted from Lucy’s obsession with pickled red onions (“What is it with you and pickles?” Tim teased as he took some off his taco and dropped them on hers.) to Kojo’s obsession with playing fetch (complete with a video Tim took of him standing at the foot of his bed with a tennis ball in his mouth at 2 a.m.). And now, as she stole the last nacho from the plate they’d been sharing while he finished the rest of his beer, they’d slipped into comfortable silence, happy to just sit together on the blanket Tim had taken from his truck and watch the waves. 

Even someone as talkative as Lucy knew that some things deserved quiet—and this view was one of them.

The sun was starting to set, the bright blue of the day’s sky fading lighter until it seemed to glow with hints of gold and pink over the water, which shimmered in the dying light. The gentle crashing of the waves and the occasional call of a stray seagull provided the only sounds, until Lucy took a final sip of her margarita and sighed contentedly.

Maybe it was the tequila or the tranquility or just _Tim_ , but she suddenly found herself fighting a distracting desire to rest her head on his shoulder. And given how the day had gone, she wasn’t sure he would have minded if she did. 

To refocus her mind on something that wasn’t how close his hand was to hers, she started talking again. “How did you find this place?” 

He closed his eyes, lost in whatever memory was coming to the surface. When he opened them again, he kept them fixed on the horizon, but there was a new tension in his jaw. “When I was 16 and got my license, I couldn’t wait to get out of the house for as long as I could. So I kept driving until I found this place. I ended up staying for hours. There was nobody here and I could just...escape.” Lucy realized their fingers were now gently overlapping on the blanket. But who reached for who first remained a mystery. 

He slowly turned to look at her, and his eyes held the sadness of a kid who’d spent his life afraid of what was waiting for him back home. “I got a black eye for staying out too late—but it was worth it.” Lucy was pretty sure she felt her heart break, and she was pretty sure Tim could see it on her face, because his best attempt at a smirk slowly masked the sadness. “I told my girlfriend I got in a fight, and she thought it made me look tough.” 

When he looked back at the water again, his expression was softer, less burdened. “Ever since then, I’d come here when I needed some peace—after my tours were done...after Isabel stopped coming home…” His eyes found hers again. 

“The last time I came here was the day West took you home from the hospital.” 

Lucy’s eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling—soft and small but filled with all the feelings she couldn’t find the words for at the moment. She wanted to say something important—something that would feel as monumental as the new chapters of Tim’s story he was laying out before her with such trust. She wanted him to know how honored she was to be trusted with this place and the side of him it brought out. She wanted him to feel as safe with her as she always felt with him. 

“I’m glad I’m here now,” she whispered, hoping he knew everything she was trying to say. 

“Me too,” he replied, a genuine smile chasing the shadows of his past from his face.

He knew.

 _Of course he knew._

After a long beat, he continued, “The first time I came here, there was a sandcastle further down toward the water. It was huge and almost annoyingly elaborate—like you could tell some family spent hours building this thing together.” His face seemed to hold a nostalgia for a childhood he never had, and Lucy found herself falling without fear into something bigger than anything she’d ever felt before. 

He kept going, his own memories eclipsing the emotional epiphany that was happening next to him. “And then all of a sudden, high tide comes in and knocks over the whole castle. The whole thing was just...wrecked.” His voice broke, and Lucy knew he was talking about so much more than just a sandcastle. “But that’s life, right? We build sandcastles. We think we’re doing okay. And then high tide comes in and wipes it all out. And it feels like it lasts forever.” 

He looked at Lucy then with such empathy that she wasn’t sure how her heart was still on the inside of her body. It felt completely exposed—but she didn’t mind as long as he was the one seeing it. 

All she could do was nod, so he pressed on, “But it doesn’t last forever. Eventually, low tide comes back. The water goes out. And then we get to try building a sandcastle again—but maybe in a better place this time.” 

“I hate high tide,” Lucy said through a throat that felt too tight. 

“I know,” Tim said with gentle reassurance. “But the tide’s gonna go out again, Boot. And if you ever need a reminder of that, I’m here.” He looked at their hands—fingers just barely touching—before lifting his hand to cover hers, a deliberate decision, a conscious choice. 

_I’m here._

When he spoke again, his voice was even softer. She could barely hear him above the crashing waves, so she leaned in close. She didn’t want to miss a word. “I know things are going to change after tomorrow, but I’m not going anywhere.” His dimples deepened as his smile turned playful. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Good to know,” Lucy replied, not trusting her voice to say anything else. When she shivered, she tried to tell herself it was the breeze and not his words that caused it.

“Cold?” Tim asked, protective as ever. 

She rubbed her hands over her bare arms. “I’m fine,” she lied. 

“Bullshit, Boot,” he snapped in response, always able to see her through her. As he took off the black jacket he’d thrown on before getting tacos, he fell back into his familiar reprimanding tone. “How did you not bring a jacket? Luckily one of us comes prepared for the weather.” 

He draped the jacket over her shoulders, and she tried to protest. “But now you’ll be cold!” She found herself laughing at his ridiculous stubbornness. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I run hot.”

She wanted to say something so badly, but she wasn’t sure just how many lines they were crossing that night. But that didn’t stop her from quirking an eyebrow up at him. 

She slid her arms through the sleeves, trying hard not to think about how she was going to smell like him now. “Thanks,” she said as she settled under its weight, pulling her legs into her chest. She hoped he knew how bone-deep her gratitude really went. 

His arm was around her shoulders before she knew what was happening, his hand gently rubbing up and down in what looked like an attempt to warm her up but what felt like an attempt to keep her close. Its path slowed until he was simply holding her against his side, and she curled in a little closer to him—all pretense gone, if any had been left to begin with. 

She felt warm. She felt safe. She felt ready for him to know.

“I kept it,” she breathed into the night air.

“What?” he asked, genuine confusion cracking the comfort between them. 

She pulled away reluctantly, turning so she could face him and easing her tank top up on one side—just enough to reveal the numbers still etched into her skin. 

“You kept it,” he repeated, looking at her with awe in his eyes. She never wanted to forget how he made her feel in that moment—like she was strong, like she was beautiful. 

Like she was seen.

His large hand gently curved around her bare waist, his thumb lightly grazing the numbers that marked the day she became a survivor—not a victim.

 _The first day of the rest of her life._

“Lucy,” he whispered reverently—a prayer of thanksgiving, an act of contrition. 

His thumb continued its pilgrimage over her side as his other hand reached up to tuck a piece of windblown hair behind her ear. She leaned into his touch, taking pleasure in the slight tremble of his fingers as they rested against her jaw. 

They were so close that she could count his eyelashes—if she could bring herself to look anywhere besides his lips. And then she felt her eyes close in anticipation, his mouth a moment from hers. Her entire body felt like a live wire as she felt him breathe against her—every reason why they shouldn’t be doing this fading from memory as she was overtaken by the all-encompassing need to know what it would feel like to be kissed by a mouth whose smirks and scowls she knew by heart. 

But before she could know, the squawk of a particularly vocal seagull intruded on their intimacy, and Tim pulled back, the sad smile on his face a new expression for Lucy to commit to memory. 

“That was almost—”

“Amazing,” Lucy countered on an exhale—not thinking, just _wanting_. But seeing the war being waged across Tim’s face, she scrunched up her features and added, “Or really bad?”

Tim’s laugh was enough to make her feel like things were going to be okay. “You’re still my rookie,” he said softly, his hand dropping from her face before she caught it in hers.

“For one more day,” she said, tracing the lines of his palm with her index finger. 

He shook his head affectionately, as his thumb ran one last time over the numbers on her side. “It’s gonna be a hell of a long day.”

Maybe this was too big a risk. Maybe this would make her job so much harder. 

Maybe she didn’t care anymore. 

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But it’ll be worth it.” 

One more day...They just had to make it through one more day, and then a whole new chapter of their lives would start.


End file.
